


slip of the tongue

by rain_at_dawn



Series: stars, scattered [21]
Category: SHINee
Genre: Angry Kissing, Band Fic, Developing Relationship, Drunken Confessions, M/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28433553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_at_dawn/pseuds/rain_at_dawn
Summary: 11. things you said when you were drunk
Relationships: Choi Minho/Kim Kibum | Key
Series: stars, scattered [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608877
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	slip of the tongue

**Author's Note:**

> prompted by @taemtaemiiii on Twitter

There are certain scraps of memory Kibum wants to scrub clean from his head: the midnight blue color of Minho’s shirt, the waitress’s high-pitched giggle when she brought them another round of drinks (on Jinki’s tab, unbeknownst to him), the thud of bottles and glasses alike on the wooden surface of the table, Jonghyun’s long-winded speech, splintered by Taemin’s random declarations of ‘Kanpai!’ even though they were back in Seoul, the ‘I love you’ shattering the silence when Minho had kissed him goodnight.

But most of all, the ‘I love you’ kiss.

It had been sloppy and wet and not enough tongue and, worse, completely sincere. Minho had a face like paper; whatever was written on his mind would appear on it. When he was drunk, it turned to glass and every emotion that crossed him went on display in pure, messy, unrestrained glory.

Kibum wishes he could get that smile out of his head, the one Minho had flashed him right after planting his lips on his. Minho’s hair had grown out a bit after his last movie shooting schedule had wrapped up; it was silky to Kibum’s touch and black as it had been on the day they’d first met as trainees. Kibum’s only sorry he hadn’t pulled more on it last night. Maybe such a trick would’ve gotten Minho to stay for a while.

Instead, he’d watched dumbfounded as Minho walked back to the cab, waving him off as he smiled with both rows of his teeth gleaming under the streetlights outside Kibum’s apartment block. Given that Kibum had woken to a relatively peaceful morning with nothing but a throbbing headache to contend with, he assumed that #TheKiss hadn’t made its way to Twitter’s trending hashtags. One less thing to blame on fucking Choi Minho. What a damn pity.

Now all Kibum has is the alcohol to be mad at. He’s so angry that he feels it deep in his chest and gut, where it churns with the sourness of regret. He should have taken up Jonghyun’s offer of a ride home, instead of calling a cab with Minho. He shouldn’t have kept making Minho laugh during all that time they had alone in the backseat, _definitely_ shouldn’t have slipped his hand over Minho’s knee. He can’t remember whether he’d listening for Minho’s delighted shrieks or looking out for the way his eyes creased in amusement.

All Kibum can recall is The Kiss.

It takes up the whole of the space in his bed, pushing out the urge to roll out of bed and stagger to the kitchen to fix himself a boiling mug of green tea to soothe his nerves. It keeps his skin uncomfortably warm and itchy under his blanket, enough so that he can’t even doze off in peace. His mind runs a mile a minute while his limbs shift around sluggishly to keep the momentum going, desperately trying to keep up with the memory of Minho’s smile from last night.

He hates the fucking bastard.

To top it off, his phone starts ringing and when he picks it up to swipe it into blessed silence, he curses the name displayed on the screen. Right above a perfectly timed photo op of his dogs is that damned name.

_Fuck Minho._ That feels nice and bitter in his mouth. Kibum would greet him with all the grace of a sucker punch to the jaw.

He answers Minho’s call by telling him to fuck right off and let him sleep off his fucking hangover.

“Kibum, it’s almost noon. Fuck if I care. And I’m outside your apartment anyway.”

Just like that, Kibum leaps out of bed and races down his hallway to buzz fucking Choi Minho in through the intercom. The combined mental and physical exertion has his heart racing and head ringing all sorts of alarm bells.

_I will beat him to a pulp_ , he promises himself. _I will box his ears and string his intestines and turn his guts into bagpipes. I will destroy him as soon as he walks through that door._

The second Minho swings open the door and carefully closes it behind him, Kibum lunges at him to pin him to the sturdy oakwood surface and shove his tongue into his mouth. Even if there hadn’t been a last night, there would have still been a moment like this. Kibum has to at least admit this much to himself, even if he does so reluctantly, amidst the impassioned staccato of kissing.

He kisses Minho like he fights him, to prove a point, to draw out a reaction, to remind him of where he stands. Kibum thinks he might bruise him from sheer force of will and the flash of imagery it provokes in him hurts as good as the hangover from last night’s drunken confession. Minho’s hands fist the material of his t-shirt, enough that it stretches uncomfortably over the muscles in Kibum’s back, while his lips meet Kibum’s attack.

They fumble for as long as they can, riding the wave of desire until they each run out of breath. Only then does Kibum look Minho in the eye.

“That’s how it’s done.”

“Wha – ”

“That’s how you’re supposed to kiss.” Kibum removes one hand from its clench on Minho’s shirt and pokes his index finger into the crease of skin that forms in-between Minho’s eyebrows when he frowns. “Learn something.”

Minho’s hands slide down to his waist, taking firm possession of each hip. “Why are you like this?”

It’s weird; they’re both smiling.

He takes his finger to Minho’s lips next, brushing over them. “You used chap-stick.”

“Wanted to get it right this time.”

Kibum doesn’t tell him that it’s been right for a good while now. They’d just needed the right words to get things going. Or perhaps, just the right gesture.

“You still need practice.”

Minho’s grip tightens slightly. “Would you show me how, seonsaeng-nim? I’m a quick study.”

Kibum won’t object.

“Take notes,” he murmurs as he moves in closer.


End file.
